


my ghost, where'd you go

by SylviaBronte



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AU, Drama, Everyone is a teenager, F/M, Family Dynamics, Gen, Government Experimentation, I genuinely don't know how to tag this so I'll probably add more later, bees are assholes, but nobody's actually depressed, but you can tell they care, mama may, mentions of depression, more characters and relationships to be added, papa phil, parental figures, quite a lot of death mentions but nothing gory i promise, that's not even a tag more of like an afterthought, well except Coulson and May, well sort of anyway they're undercover ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-15 00:11:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5764336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylviaBronte/pseuds/SylviaBronte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started when she was six years old, with a car accident that killed her parents and should have killed her.</p><p>Jemma doesn't really remember the accident, or being brought back to life. She then became one of the first ever test subjects in a covert government program testing a drug with the 'working title' "Revive".</p><p>At the age of seventeen, Jemma has died and been brought back to life six times. Every death means a new name, a new city, and a new identity. The only constant in her life is constant change. But this time, when she moves to a small town in New Hampshire... she makes a friend, a best friend, and everything changes in a way she'd never imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm really excited to start posting this story. It's been in the works for a little while now, and the storyline is heavily inspired by a book that I honestly can't remember the name or the author of. I'm terrible. If anybody recognises the general plot, let me know so I can give proper credits to the author!
> 
> Really though, this has been a bit of a secret project. I've umm-ed and ahh-ed about whether I should start posting it yet because I'm terrible with updates, but I'm going to do it. It'll motivate me to keep writing!
> 
> Please, if you like this story, leave kudos and maybe a comment! It's not a lot, but it really makes my day. Oh, and don't get too confused - this is only the prologue.
> 
> Enjoy!

She lies on her back in the grass. The warm, summer sun beats down on her, but she doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t even acknowledge the beauty of her surroundings.

It’s because her limbs are twitching, her entire body spasming beyond her control. Jemma fights to stay awake, forcing her eyes open and trying desperately hard to prevent what is now starting to look unavoidable. She’s dimly aware of a stinging pain in her upper arm, but it fades into the background along with the throng of students circling around her. A few of them gasp, standing there in shock with their faces pale and eyes wide.

Suddenly, someone - a teacher, she thinks - drops down to her knees beside her and starts speaking loudly into her phone with a hand on her shoulder.

“Her name? Oh, God, her name… Jemma… Jemma, uh…” She looks up, clearly panicking as she searches the sea of students for answers. “I don’t know her last name!”

For a moment, neither does Jemma.

“Hawke!” another teacher calls out.

 _“Yes…”_ she thinks to herself. _“That’s it… Hawke.”_

The teacher at her side repeats the information to what Jemma imagines is a 911 dispatcher, her voice shaking. Her movements are slowly becoming weaker and less jerky, and as the ache in her muscles begins to dissipate she’s almost glad that the end is apparently nigh. Almost.

“It looks like she’s having an allergic reaction to something,” she provides, helplessly looking at Jemma as her body slowly begins to stop spasming.

 _A bee sting,_ she wants to say, but she can’t breathe. The words don’t come, and she remain silent. Jemma can faintly hear a wheezing noise, and it takes her fuzzy mind a few seconds to realise that it’s coming from her.

A sudden jerk startles the other students around her and they jump back in fear, a few of them making surprised noises. With as much strength as she can muster, Jemma desperately tries to force a breath into her lungs. All she gets is a slightly louder wheeze and a tiny intake of breath, which she knows will be one of her last.

They were only about ten minutes into P.E., and their teacher had told them to jog around the track to get warmed up for their lesson. At first, the fresh air and the beautiful summer’s afternoon had been a godsend; Jemma had jogged alone, hanging towards the back of the group and enjoying the peace, when she felt the all too familiar pinch of a bee sting in her arm. Closely followed by several more. She’d managed to hit number one on speed dial just before her body gave up on her and she collapsed onto the grass.

She just hopes Coulson makes it in time.

As a wave of calm spreads over her body, Jemma knows she doesn’t have long left now. Her body begins to relax, her movements slowing and weakening to barely anything at all. A small movement akin to a shiver occasionally runs through her, and her eyelids are growing heavier by the second. The crowd slowly closes in, and her eyes bounce off the faces above her. Most of them look absolutely terrified, and a few of the girls are crying. It’s funny, really - it’s her first day, and they’re all still strangers to her. It almost doesn’t make much sense that they care about her. The girl that showed her around earlier has a different schedule, so even she’s not there.

Teachers try to get the crowd away but they stick to her like magnets, hopelessly captivated by the horror of the situation. Even the boys, who were running around and whooping as they showed off only minutes ago, are silent and clearly rattled by what they’re seeing. Two of them are holding onto each other tightly - they seemed quieter, and she knew they were intelligent with an interest in science. Just like her.

“Move back!” someone yells. “Move back so the paramedics can get through!”

Nobody listens. Nobody moves, and without realising it they create a blockade between Jemma and the help she so sorely needs.

Eventually her eyes find a pale girl with a nose ring, whose locker is next to hers. She seemed nice. _“Maybe we would have been friends,”_ Jemma wonders. She’s not crying, but she looks petrified.

They stare at each other until Jemma’s eyes finally close. Everyone gasps.

“Oh God!”

“Someone do something!”

“Help her!”

Faintly, Jemma hears sirens approaching. Tennis shoe-clad feet thunder away from her to wave in the paramedics - whether it’s Coulson, May, or the real ones she has no idea. Her body goes completely limp.

“Jemma, _please_ , hold on!” a girl cries out. She thinks it might have been her almost-friend.

Her mind goes completely blank, and the sounds around her have a tinny quality and she can no longer hear or decipher them. The world slowly fades to nothing, and before she has the chance to have another thought...

She’s dead.


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! The response to the prologue has made me really happy so far, so thank you very much. I have a lot going on in my personal life right now, but the second chapter is almost finished so I should hopefully be posting that in 3-5 days. After that, however, the next chapter may take a little longer - but I will be keeping people updated on my Twitter account, which is linked at the end of the chapter for anyone interested.
> 
> A few people have reached out to me to tell me that the book I can't think of that this is based on is actually _Revive_ by Cat Patrick. So I went back, read through the prologue (and the first chapter) and... well, it's amazing how much information you retain. A few passages (and the general structure in some places) are very, very similar, so if you've read the book - please don't think I'm trying to rip it off! Genuine accident.
> 
> Lastly, I hope you enjoy this chapter! Please leave a comment to let me know what you think :)

“Got everything, Jemma?” Coulson asks, his voice gentle and quiet. She nods quickly as she leaves the house for the last time, closing the door behind her with her last box of belongings in her arms. She knows the drill - she’s left behind everything she won't need or that is easily replaceable, such as furniture and a few items of clothing she was never that keen on. He sighs as he watches her, taking the box from her hands. “Let me.”

“Thank you.” Jemma lets him take it, still feeling a bit light-headed and unbalanced after her procedure. The effects of it normally take a day or so to fade away, though she knows she’ll probably be able to sleep some of it off on the way to wherever it is they’re going this time.

As Jemma clambers into the waiting SUV she takes one last look at the house she’d grown used to over the last few months, while Coulson disappears inside to have one last sweep of the place. Last time they left something behind that almost caused a lot of problems. They won’t be making that mistake again, and he’ll make sure of it even if it kills him. She admires his determination to keep things moving, but he can be so abrupt and set in his ways that it often really grates on her nerves. But, overall, he’s a lovely man - he’s not her father, but it feels like he almost could be.

May turns around to offer her a small smile from where she’s sat in the driver’s seat, before turning around again to read something on her phone. It’s probably a message from the facility, it normally is. She’s wearing a fake paramedics’ uniform with a black turtle-neck thrown on top, and her hair is tied up in a ponytail.

Jemma closes the door behind her, and leans against it with her head resting on the tinted glass. That house, despite the short amount of time they’d stayed in it, had definitely been her favourite one yet. She tries to comfort herself with the knowledge that the next house could be even better, and occupies herself with designing her new bedroom in her mind as she watches the low headlights approach from down the road. A double bed, of course, because she likes having a lot of room and she moves around a lot in her sleep. A wardrobe and a chest of drawers, a shelf for her books, and a desk for her to do homework and play on her laptop. And maybe a goldfish, if she's allowed. Pets are mostly forbidden, but she can't really see them saying no to a fish. Especially if she begs.

A few more vans pull into the large driveway, and figures dressed in black begin to clamber out. Some of them start unloading things from the back of the vans, while others immediately head up to go into the house. They were the clean-up crew, and Jemma never grew tired of watching them move stealthily through the night to erase any traces that they’d ever lived there. Making it look like the ‘nice couple’ had left town to get away from the pain of losing their teenage daughter seems totally effortless to them, but the more practical side of her knows that it's probably quite a job. Not only do they have to meticulously clear out the house and take care of fake obituaries and God knows what else, they also have to start spreading rumours about her “parents” leaving town. The rumours are always started up by people you would never expect - the man at the gas station just passing through, or the quiet girl that dropped by the local café for breakfast. She’s always been interested in the process, but she doesn't ask much about it. It would probably earn her another lecture about how hard she always made them work thanks to her “mistakes”. The thought of it makes her roll her eyes, and she turns away from the window.

They’re all government agents trained for specific purposes - doctors, scientists, watchers, bodyguards, but anyone that isn’t on duty steps in to take care of a clean-up, they’re all trained in that area. Agents from a different department take on the job of infiltrating the neighbourhood to spread rumours and put minds at ease.

Eventually, Coulson clambers into the passenger seat beside May and exhales heavily. She briefly glances at him and they share a quick smile, which makes Jemma roll her eyes again. There’s clearly something going on between them, but she knows better than to ask. It doesn’t really surprise her, after eleven years of pretending to be a married couple she’d be more surprised if there _wasn't_ something there.

He’s clearly tired, running his fingers through his thinning hair and letting out a yawn. May, on the other hand, remains stoic and poised - Jemma always thought she seemed almost superhuman, and she wonders if she even _has_ any weaknesses. She never gets tired for that matter, or fatigued in any way. She can't even remember if she’s ever seen her get sick.

“Where to this time, Mel?” he asks, leaning back in his seat and glancing up at Jemma in the mirror. She doesn’t say or do anything to acknowledge him, just looks away and lets out a sigh. He returns his attention to May.

“Lebanon. New Hampshire,” she answers. “Seems nice.”

He nods, and she puts the SUV in reverse. Jemma looks out of the window at her former home one last time, and when it disappears from view she exhales heavily and leans over to grab her pillow from the seat next to her. She places it between the window and her head, covers herself with her childhood blanket, and nods off within a few minutes.

 

 

 

 

Jemma finally opens her eyes after what feels like about half an hour at the most, but that clearly isn’t the case when she’s greeted with sunlight. She groans and rubs her eyes.

“No…” she mumbles drowsily. “Too bright…”

Coulson looks up from his phone, and smiles at her in the mirror when he notices she’s awake.

“Morning, sleeping beauty.” he teases. If she had the energy, she would have thrown her pillow at him. “You were out for quite a while, May was gonna pull over and check you were still breathing.”

She huffs. “Oh, very funny.”

He looks at her blankly.

“I did just _die_ , if you remember correctly.”

“Right, sorry.” He’s still smiling at her, but he seems sincere.

May, unsurprisingly, doesn’t really speak. She’s not very talkative when she drives. Jemma doesn’t bother saying anything to her, knowing that she’ll probably only get a short response or a grunt in return. She remembers, then, that there’s _one_ weakness she’s ever noticed about her - stress. Moving always stresses her out. This time is particularly bad, seeing as they were only in Ohio for six months or so. It’s the shortest “life” Jemma’s ever had, and she’s fully expecting to be lectured over it at some point. They’ll just wait for the effects of the procedure to wear off before they talk to her, she hopes.

She feels guilty about having to move and start over so soon, she was really starting to like Akron. They’d moved from Cicero, New York before that, and they’d all agreed it was much nicer. The area they lived in was lovely, and now they were having to move all over again. It wasn’t _exactly_ her fault, she didn’t really _ask_ to get stung by bees, but forgetting her EpiPen on her first day at a new school was just asking for trouble.

The worst part was that she hadn’t even _forgotten_ it. She’d been on her way out of the house when she realised she’d left it upstairs by her laptop on the desk. Jemma hadn’t been running late so she easily could have gone upstairs to fetch it, but the anxiety surrounding starting at a brand new school got the better of her and she decided to just go. She can remember thinking that nothing would happen on the _one day_ she didn’t take her EpiPen.

 _Oh, how wrong I was_ , she thinks bitterly.

“So… New Hampshire,” Jemma begins slowly, stretching her legs as best she can in the cramped SUV. “Lebanon, right?” Coulson nods. “Have either of you been there before?”

“My _Nǎinai_ used to live there before she died,” May responds, keeping her eyes fixed on the road. It’s the Mandarin word for _grandma_ , as far as Jemma can remember. She doesn’t speak the language, but she's picked up on a few words that May regularly uses. “Not in Lebanon, though. A few miles out.”

Coulson raises an eyebrow, and looks over at her. “You don’t have anyone there that could recognise you, right?”

She shakes her head. “No. They’re always careful with the background checks, we’d never be sent somewhere where we have potential pre-existing ties.”

He shrugs his shoulders, and looks out of the window to his right. “Just making sure.”

Jemma leans back in her seat again, not quite knowing what to do with herself. A sign they just passed assures her that they still have quite a while to go before they get to their next destination, and she’s at a loss for what to do. Her phone isn’t charged due to the fact that they had to leave so abruptly, and reading makes her car-sick. She eventually settles for watching the world go by at seventy-five miles an hour, leaving May to drive and Coulson to tinker with his phone. Until, of course, her suddenly uncomfortably full bladder gets the better of her and she has to beg May to pull over at the next stop.

They have about fifty miles to go when they pull over at a small diner, and Jemma rushes to use the surprisingly inoffensive bathroom. She sits and idly reads the messages written on the inside of the stall with a wad of toilet paper clutched in her hand.

_Call xxx-xxx-xxxx for a good time! ;)_

_Scott is gay_

_Alicia was here! 01/03/13_

_Smile! You’re beautiful._

There are a lot of crude messages and drawings, each one ruder than the last. She eventually gets bored, and leaves the stall to wash her hands.

She hovers over the sink for a minute, looking at herself in the mirror. She looks tired and pale with dark circles under her eyes, and she looks as though she hasn’t brushed her hair in days. _Probably just from the procedure_ , she tells herself. _I’ll start feeling like myself again soon. Even though I’m not quite sure who ‘myself’ is._

“Where are you, Jemma Simmons?” she asks softly, using her old name. Her real name. “You must be in there somewhere, no amount of death can change that.”

Jemma eventually shakes the thoughts from her mind, and heads out to join May and Coulson in the diner. Coulson still seems completely exhausted, yawning while May watches on and smirks at him, but there’s a certain kind of rare fondness to her expression that actually seems genuine. She plays the role of a doting, stay-at-home mother and loving wife well, but a lot of it really is just acting. She knows that she cares for her, but the way she looks at Coulson is something else entirely. The diner is deserted and the staff aren’t paying them any attention, so this definitely isn’t just an example of the way she puts it on to make them seem more like a married couple. As soon as she sees Jemma, however, her expression changes.

She slips into the booth to sit beside Coulson, smiling at him just like a loving daughter would. They easily slip into having a strong father-daughter relationship, Jemma enjoys pretending to be a daddy’s girl - Coulson is warm and funny, and while she likes May too she can often act a bit robotic when they aren’t around other people.

This time, however, when he smiles back it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“We really need to talk, Jemma,” he says softly. May pockets her phone, and nods her head.

“He’s right."

Jemma takes a deep breath, and bites her lip. “If this is about what happened, I’m really sorry. I forgot my EpiPen, it was a _stupid_ mistake. I’m sorry-” She looks up as she notices the waitress coming over to them. “Dad.” she finishes.

“We’ll talk about it in a minute,” Coulson says in a hushed tone, before turning to smile at their waitress.

“Hey, are you guys ready to order?” she asks, smiling back at him. She’s called Alice, according to her name badge. She has a few piercings, red hair, and tattoos that cover her arms and legs. Jemma spots her nose ring and remembers that girl from her old school. Vaguely, she wondered how she would be coping after seeing someone basically die in front of her. It couldn’t have been easy.

“I think we’ll need a few more minutes,” he responds, still smiling. Alice nods her head, and disappears back into the kitchen again. Coulson’s smile quickly fades, and he turns back to Jemma with a more serious expression on his face. She looks at May, watching the kitchen to make sure no staff are within earshot before she starts talking.

She clears her throat. “It’s important for you to know this, Jemma, so I’ll be blunt.” May glances around her one more time, ever paranoid about them being followed, before continuing. “We almost couldn’t bring you back this time. It was very, very close. Coulson almost called time of death.”

Jemma’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, and her mouth falls open. The idea of a permanent death actually being reality is difficult to take in. “What do you mean?”

“For some reason, your body didn’t respond to the drug at first. It was stressful,” Coulson explains briefly, glancing at his watch. “We thought we were gonna have another Raina on our hands.”

She swallows hard as she remembers being told about Raina. She, like the other test subjects of Project Revive, had been brought back to life at a young age with little to no issue. She was much closer to her handlers than any of the other subjects, they were really like a family. She called them Mom and Dad, even when they were alone. Jemma had met her once or twice, and she’d seemed nice enough. A bit quiet at times and decidedly odd, but her handlers had doted on her and she'd loved them like they were her real parents in return. Until, of course, she died. It was a few days before Christmas, and she was skating on the iced-over pond near the house. The ice broke, and despite the fact that they got to her just in time to save her, her body refused to react to the drug no matter how hard they tried. Her handlers, distraught at losing the girl that had become like a daughter to them, had left the project altogether. She had only been fourteen years old.

Jemma sighs heavily, looking down into her lap. “I’m not going to be like Raina, I promise.”

Coulson pats her shoulder. “I hope not. It’d be a shame to lose you, Jemma.”

She offers a small smile, and takes a menu when May offers it to her. After going for what feels like forever without eating anything, all of it looks appetising to her. When Alice returns she opts for a stack of pancakes with syrup and blueberries and a chocolate milkshake, Coulson chooses an egg and cheese omelette with a black coffee, and May goes for a boiled egg and toast with sliced melon on the side, along with a glass of tap water. She’d always been a health nut, but she’d mostly given up on trying to get Jemma to eat healthily so she usually just focuses on herself. And sometimes Coulson, but he always resisted her efforts with a bacon sandwich every morning.

May looks ready to say something, but the ring of a bell alerts her to another family entering the diner. Another couple, probably married, with two young children. Coulson effortlessly slips into his role as the loving father and husband, putting an arm around Jemma and reaching across the table to hold May’s hand. She smiles lovingly at him and nods to Jemma.

“So, excited for the new house? You’re gonna love it.” May hadn't even seen the house yet, all she had was the address, but moving small-talk is common for them when they need to maintain cover during a move. “I’m sure your father and I can help you set up your new room once we’re done with everything else.” Translation: once we’ve set up the pop-up lab in the basement. It's a part of every move that Jemma always dreads, setting up the lab. It doesn't take too long, but it means she's essentially left to her own devices for a few hours while they work. It's not too bad, seeing as she's used to being on her own, but it still gets boring after a while. Especially if they ask her to help, which they have once or twice in the past.

“I guess,” Jemma shrugs her shoulders, playing the role of the typical, mostly uninterested teenager. “I liked my old room, and our old house. I just hope this one lives up to what you’ve told me.”

May’s face softens in a way that she can almost swear is real. “Well, we’ll just have to make this room extra special.”

Alice returns with their food soon after, and as soon as the plate touches the table Jemma immediately tucks in. May can’t help but roll her eyes at her, but Coulson chuckles and squeezes her shoulder.

“Look at you, eager beaver. Someone’s gonna grow up big and strong,” he jokes.

Jemma groans between mouthfuls. “Ugh, Dad! I’m _seventeen_.”

The couple at the other booth chuckle, and they return to their food without any more talking.

She finishes before them both, a rare feat, with her plate being practically licked clean while they both still have just under half of their food left. Jemma drains the last of her milkshake, hums appreciatively, and leans back against the seat. Good food always helps her feel better and more grounded during and just after a move, and having something in her stomach for the first time since the revival procedure feels fantastic.

“Enjoy that?” Coulson asks.

She nods.

“Want anything else? Another drink, maybe?”

She shakes her head, and he leaves her to it while he finishes his food. She thinks about how she can’t wait to finally get moved into the new house and get settled, as well as charge her laptop and phone. Jemma hadn’t spoken to Daisy, a fellow “lab rat” as they jokingly called themselves, since before school the previous morning. They normally spoke constantly, so she was probably worried about her.

May finishes soon after and Coulson follows in quick succession, letting out a burp. Jemma snorts with laughter and May shoots him a disapproving look.

“Come on, let’s pay up and go.” he says, stretching his arms out over his head. “We don’t have that much ground left to cover, we’ll be there within an hour or so.”

He manages to flag down Alice and pay the bill, leaving her a $5 tip on the table. Jemma follows them as they walk to the SUV, holding hands and looking just like any other loved up couple. She sighs, watching on as Coulson kisses her cheek and May laughs at nothing.

She can’t really remember what her life was like before she died for the first time and was entered into Project Revive, and she often thinks that’s for the best. Coulson and May are lovely and they care about her, but they aren’t parents. Not really. If she could remember her real family, she’s sure that she would only end up missing them. _Pretending gets exhausting after a while_ , she thinks, hauling herself into the back of the SUV and sitting down heavily.

“Next stop, Lebanon.” Coulson smiles at her over his shoulder as he clambers into the driver’s seat, giving May a much-needed break from driving. Jemma fakes a smile, and leans against the door to look out of the window again.

“What’s our new surname going to be?” she asks lazily, watching the world go by as they pull out of the diner.

“Fathers,” May answers, replying to an email on her phone.

“Jemma Fathers…” She tries her new name on her tongue, pausing to think for a minute. “It’s… it's _alright_. Hawke was my favourite.”

“Fathers is a fine name,” Coulson responds, turning onto the freeway. “You’ll get used to it.”

Jemma nods, and falls silent again.

_I hope it lasts, this time. I hope I don’t mess up again. I’m tired of all the change._

She closes her eyes, still feeling slightly off from the procedure, and slowly begins to drift off to sleep again.


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry, this update is a little bit later than I said it would be. I struggled a bit with some writer's block that I'm mostly over now, and I had to finish off some college coursework. You can expect the next chapter within the next two weeks - I'm trying to learn lines for a show! If you'd like to stay updated, feel free to pester me on Twitter and/or Tumblr (linked in the end notes).
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this chapter! Please let me know what you think, comments and kudos mean the world to me! <3

Jemma wakes up to someone gently shaking her arm, and she makes a quiet noise in protest. She’s tired from the journey, and she still hasn’t fully recovered from the procedure yet. After a few more seconds of trying, she feels herself get lifted into someone’s arms - _May’s_ , she thinks. She recognises the smell of her shampoo. The sunlight can be seen even through her closed lids, and she lets out a groan and hides her face in May’s shoulder.

“And you say you don’t want us to treat you like a kid.” May jokes fondly. “Still worn out from the procedure, huh?” She nods, and she continues. “I’m not surprised. You gave us quite a scare.”

“Sorry…” she mumbles guiltily.

“It’s fine, just try not to do it again.”

She cracks her eyes open when they enter the house, looking around curiously. It’s quite nice, with hardwood flooring and high ceilings. She can already picture what it’ll look like when they finish furnishing it - a television mounted on the far wall, a large rug near the sofas, with a few bookshelves dotted around. Maybe a house plant or two, seeing as May quite likes them. Jemma lets out a yawn, and May carefully sets her down.

“Is it the usual story?” she asks aloud, wandering around a little to get a feel of the place. “Parents killed in a car accident when I was little, and then I was adopted by you two in London?”

Coulson casually leans back against the wall by the door, messing around on his phone again. “Yep,” He nods. “Moving crew should be here within the next ten minutes with some furniture. I can’t wait to sit down."

“We’ve all just been sat down for about nine or ten hours in the SUV, Phil,” May responds, slowly wandering towards the kitchen. Jemma opts to follow her, ever curious about her new home. She watches her as she walks around with a small smile on her face - she doesn’t smile that often, so she really must love the kitchen. May’s loved cooking since before Jemma can remember, and she can see that she’s already mentally planning things in her head as she looks around and inspects the various cupboards and drawers. Upon spotting the bay window over one of the counters, her smile grows wider.

“Look, Jemma…” She wanders over, looking out at the garden. “I always wanted a bay window, and the garden looks good too.” Jemma stands by her side, and together they look out and admire the large lawn, complete with a few flower beds dotted around and what looks like an apple tree towards the back. A bee buzzes past the window, and Jemma reflexively flinches and her hand flies to her pocket, where her EpiPen is. May smirks, and turns to go and explore the rest of the house.

“Why don’t you go upstairs and see your new room?” Coulson suggests, starting to inspect the kitchen himself. “First door on the right once you get up the stairs. Your phone charger should be in your backpack. Go talk to Daisy, or something.”

She smiles at the thought of having a catch-up, and quickly heads out to fetch her bag from the SUV. It seems like a quiet day, with not even the arrival of a new family in the neighbourhood disturbing the peace. Jemma hears what sounds like children playing a few houses away, and the slowly approaching sound of two people walking whilst having a conversation. Two men pass by the house and wave to her, and she hesitantly waves in return with a smile on her face. Thankfully, they don’t stop to ask her if she’s new to the neighbourhood - she doesn’t really feel like meeting the neighbours just yet.

With her bag slung over her shoulder Jemma returns to the house and heads upstairs, stretching her arms over her head as she goes. Going up the stairs is hardly a difficult feat, but she’s still panting slightly when she reaches the top. Upon opening the door to her new bedroom, first door on the right, she can’t help but smile as she puts down her bag.

It’s bigger than her old room, that’s for sure. She liked how cosy and small her last bedroom was, but having a larger space to decorate is exciting. Jemma digs through her back to grab her phone and charger, plugging it into one of the plug sockets in the far left corner of the room. The walls are white and the carpet, soft beneath her bare feet, is a dusty grey colour. The best part of the room, the first thing she noticed, is the window alcove. She fetches her book from her bag - _The Tenth Circle_ by Jodi Picoult - and sits up to read. It would be more comfortable with a few cushions, but the novelty of it is enough to get her by.

Jemma’s phone finally turns itself on after about ten minutes, and she looks up when she hears it vibrating in the corner. A glance at the screen confirms just what she’d been expecting - Daisy had inundated her with texts and phone calls, worried about her and trying to figure out where she was. She shakes her head, smiling fondly, and quickly writes out a text.

 **10:23:05** **Jemma  
**_Don’t worry, I’m alright. Sorry, we had to move again last night - just got to the new house, haven’t had time to charge my phone until now._

Of course, a reply comes back almost instantly.

 **10:23:20 Daisy  
** _Seriously?! Jemma, again? What was it this time?_

She sighs heavily.

 **10:23:49 Jemma  
** _Bees, of course. Forgot my bloody EpiPen._

 **10:24:05 Daisy  
** _Oh, wow. Typical, you just had to get stung on the one day you forgot it._

 **10:24:21 Jemma  
** _Exactly. I’m not happy about it. We’re in New Hampshire now._

 **10:24:30 Daisy  
** _Whereabouts?_

 **10:24:36 Jemma  
**_Lebanon._ _It seems nice, so I can’t really complain. Wait til you see my room._

Jemma walks over to the doorway, and switches to her camera to take a panorama photo of the room to show Daisy. Once done, she sends it over and wanders back over to the alcove to sit and wait for her response.

 **10:25:51 Daisy  
** _Very nice. That window’s pretty cool. I bet you’ve already got a whole load of ideas on how to decorate._

 **10:26:08 Jemma  
** _Oh, of course :) I’d like your input though. Skype later?_

 **10:26:20 Daisy  
** _Totally._

Before Jemma can write up another response, another text comes through.

 **10:26:28 Daisy  
** _You know, I seriously can’t believe you’ve had to move. Again. Isn’t this, like, your sixth time?_

 **10:26:36 Jemma  
** _Yep._

 **10:26:41 Daisy  
** _Wow. You sure cost the program a lot of money, you know that?_

She rolls her eyes.

 **10:26:57 Jemma  
** _Aren’t you supposed to say something comforting?_

 **10:27:07 Daisy  
** _Sorry. I just can’t imagine how that must be. I’ve only died twice. I think my mom and dad are glad that I’m not as clumsy as you are._

 **10:27:13 Jemma  
** _Hmm._

 **10:27:21 Daisy  
** _Listen, I gotta go. Text me when you wanna Skype, but make sure it’s after six. I’m heading out with some friends, it’s Trip’s birthday._

 **10:27:35 Jemma  
** _Alright, I'll talk to you later._

 **10:27:42 Daisy  
** _Love you, Jemma._

 **10:27:46 Jemma  
** _Love you more._

She crosses the room to put her phone back on charge again, and sits back in the window with her knees pulled up to her chest as she reads. Talking to Daisy would normally put her at ease, seeing as she’s the only person she’s really _close_ to and they’ve known each other since they were children, but the gravity of having to move and start over again is starting to weigh on her.

After a while, Jemma gives up on reading and slides her bookmark back into place, closing it and setting it down on the floor. She focuses her attention on looking out of her window at the street below, until a low whistle coming from behind her makes her turn around.

Coulson stands in the doorway, looking around with a small smile on his face.

“Cool room,” he comments, nodding his head. “Got any ideas for how you wanna decorate yet?”

Jemma shrugs her shoulders, and leans back. “A few, I suppose. I think I want it to be cosy, but…” She waves her hand in the air, trying to think of the words to say. “Minimalistic?”

He smirks. “That’s hardly gonna be possible with the amount of books you have. Still, it’ll be a fun little project. Decorating is one of the best parts about moving.”

“Yeah.” She sighs. “I just feel bad for having to uproot everything _again_.”

He goes over to place a hand on her shoulder, and she looks up at him. “Don’t let yourself think like that, Jemma. What’s done is done. We’re here now, and this is a nice house. It’s actually nicer than the last one, in my humble opinion.” Coulson smiles again. “Don’t tell May, but it’s almost like you did us a favour.”

Jemma snorts, and smacks his arm. “ _Sure_.”

“We’re gonna head out soon to get some lunch,” he says, turning to leave her room and scratching the back of his neck. He stops in the doorway to finish talking to her, turning back around. “What do you feel like eating?”

She pauses to think. “Something really, really bad for me.”

Coulson laughs at that. “Taco Bell it is. May’s gonna blow a fuse.”

“Oh, let her,” Jemma smiles weakly at him. “She can eat something unhealthy every so often, surely.”

He shrugs, and leaves her room. “Try telling her that.” he calls over his shoulder.

Jemma shakes her head, still smiling, and leans back again to look up at the ceiling and get lost in her thoughts.

 

 

 

 

Just as she and Coulson had expected, May didn’t seem too happy about the fact that they were heading to Taco Bell for lunch. She hasn't said much, but her expression is one of disapproval and Jemma can practically _feel_ the iciness of the looks she's giving Coulson. Thankfully, she hasn’t verbally protested yet.

May looks out of the windows as they drive, scanning the streets as though she’s looking for someone. Jemma watches her curiously for a little while, though she knows she’s probably just on the lookout for anyone that appears suspicious. She knows - and she also thinks that May knows, deep down - that it’ll be practically impossible for her to identify a potential threat after only a quick glance. She’d asked Coulson about it once, asking why she did it, and he’d only given a vague answer. Jemma vows to ask her about it sometime, when she’s in a good mood.

Coulson, however, just focuses on the road. He occasionally glances at Jemma in the mirror from time to time, and they smile at each other. He’s been in relatively high spirits since they arrived, and his good mood seems to be continuing. There’s some old 80s song on the radio that Jemma vaguely recognises, and he quietly sings along while he drums his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the music. In between the disapproving looks, Jemma swears she sees May slip in a slightly fonder one when his singing grows slightly louder. Coulson isn’t a bad singer, whereas she can’t carry a tune in a bucket. She’s never really heard May sing.

“There it is!” he announces triumphantly, shutting off the radio and turning in the direction of the drive-thru. “I’d suggest that we should eat in, but May would probably burn if she walked into a fast food place.”

May smacks the back of his head, but yet again, she sees a flash of a fond smile. Coulson grunts, and rubs the area.

“Alright, alright, point taken.”

Jemma is quick to decide on her order - a seven layer burrito and a Starburst strawberry freeze - though she doesn’t pay much attention to what May and Coulson order. She doesn’t think May orders anything anyway, she just gives him another look when he asks what she wants. As she looks out of the window at the passing cars, she tunes in and out of their conversation while they wait at the window for their food.

“They have salads here, Melinda. You could have just had one of those.”

“Those aren’t _salads_ , Phil.”

“Well, they’re _called_ salads.”

“But they’re not. Do you honestly expect _anything_ that comes out of Taco Bell to be even _remotely_ healthy?”

He sighs heavily. “The sour cream in Jemma’s burrito is low-fat, apparently.”

Jemma can practically feel May rolling her eyes at him. “Oh, and that makes it healthy?”

Before their bickering can continue, she steps in. “If you’re acting out the typical ‘old married couple’ thing, you’ve got me fooled.” Jemma mutters.

May exhales slowly. “I’ll make myself something at home. Or I’ll just have a smoothie.”

An employee hands them their food and Jemma’s drink before Coulson can reply, though he frowns at the idea of her settling for a liquid meal. He takes it from her and thanks her with a smile, before passing the bag to Jemma and starting in the direction of home again. She sips her drink and finds her burrito, picking at the foil in her lap instead of starting to eat it. Deep in thought again, she has too much of her drink at one time and winces.

“Ow…” she mutters.

May looks at her in the mirror. “You okay, Jemma?”

“I’m fine,” she replies quickly, pressing her tongue to the roof of her mouth to lessen the pain. “Just brain freeze. Really, there’s no need for you to be so paranoid. I’m a big girl.”

Coulson visibly stiffens and she knows she’s probably said the wrong thing, but to their surprise she just laughs. That’s another rare sound - May’s laugh.

“If I wasn’t so _paranoid_ , Jemma, you would have been gone for good when you were eight.” she reminds her.

Jemma wrinkles her nose as she uncomfortably remembers her second death. It happened on her eighth birthday, she’d a few friends over for birthday cake seeing as there wasn’t really enough of them for her to have an actual party, and she’d taken some leftover snacks upstairs into her room. Everything had been going fine, she was just reading the new book Coulson had given her when something made her jump and she ended up swallowing a strawberry whole. She immediately tried to dislodge it herself having received basic first aid training from Coulson and May, only to get it even more stuck.

She had woken up in Coulson’s arms, her throat burning while she gasped for air. May had silently watched on while he gently explained to her what had happened, holding her close and stroking her hair as she cried. Despite the fact that they could have easily stayed living in Oregon seeing as nobody knew what had happened to her, they were forced into moving anyway. Jemma had hated it, they’d gone to North Dakota that time.

It was May’s inkling that something was wrong that had saved her life. Normally they left Jemma to her own devices, she’d never been overly sociable as a child, but something made her think that there was a problem. If they’d had reached her much later, they wouldn’t have been able to save her.

“That wasn’t really paranoia, though. You just had a _feeling_ that something was wrong.” she corrects her, raising an eyebrow. May shrugs her shoulders, never taking her eyes off Jemma from where she’s looking at her in the mirror.

“You weren’t there.” she replies simply.

Jemma stays silent for the rest of the journey home, nibbling at her burrito and occasionally having a small sip of her drink. Coulson, sensing the slightly awkward atmosphere, turns on the radio again and immediately starts singing along as soon as he recognises the Queen song that’s playing. It’s _Killer Queen_ , one of her favourites, but she can’t bring herself to sing with him. Normally May likes to hum along too, but she doesn’t make a sound.

When they’re almost home, at the last minute, Coulson shuts off the radio and turns the SUV around. Jemma furrows her brow and looks away from the window to try and see what’s going on, and May raises an eyebrow at him.

“Phil, where are we going? They’ll be here soon with the furniture.” she asks, sounding exasperated. He just shakes his head, smiling.

“They can let themselves in.” May lets out a heavy sigh. “Jemma looks like she’s gonna lock herself in her room and mope for the next two hours, and-”

“Wait,” she interjects suddenly. “My room has a lock this time?”

Coulson rolls his eyes, and holds up a hand to stop her. May glares at him, and he quickly returns it to the wheel. “That’s not the point. And Melinda, you look like you’re gonna take out your anger on the next person to piss you off. Probably the movers, like last time.”

She huffs. “I did _not_ scream at the movers. And I’m not angry, either.” Coulson smirks, looking ready to start laughing, and Jemma quickly has a bite of her burrito to avoid laughing with him and feeling May’s wrath as a result.

“You made one of them cry,” Jemma reminds her, as soon as she’s certain she won’t laugh while she tries to get her words out. May is silent for a moment, thinking, before she speaks up again.

“I was very stressed.” she begins, starting out gently before her voice suddenly takes on a different, more irritated edge. “And he tried to put the blender in the _cupboard_. I like it on the counter.”

“Oh, the horror.” Coulson deadpans, only to yelp when she smacks the back of his head again. “I’m _driving_!”

“You’re fine.”

Jemma snorts with laughter, watching them bicker as she eats. May eventually lets it go, allowing him to focus on the road, and they fall into silence again. She leans back in her seat, shifting to hold her drink between her thighs when it starts to make her hands feel uncomfortably cold. She watches Coulson for a little while before she remembers that they aren’t going home, and clears her throat to ask the question.

“So, Coulson…” she begins slowly. “If we aren’t going home, then where _are_ we going?”

May doesn’t say anything, but she raises an eyebrow. Coulson’s smile grows.

“We’re going shopping.”

“For what?”

“Mainly for you, and your room.” he answers simply, shrugging. “We’ll go to a few places. You’ll settle in quicker once you have your own space, I know this move has been hard on you."

Jemma sighs weakly, looking down into her lap. It never ceases to surprise her how he always seems to know exactly how she’s feeling, without her even needing to say anything. “It really has.” she agrees, trying not to let on how hard it really _has_ been. But he seems to know, anyway.

He glances at her in the mirror with a sympathetic smile on his face. “If you find a paint colour you like, I’ll try and help you out tomorrow. Any ideas?”

She shrugs. “Maybe a dusty blue. Or even just a light grey, actually.”

Coulson grimaces, and shakes his head. “Blue sounds better. Grey’s too dull. But maybe you could have a grey… what’s it called… when one wall’s a different colour than the rest?"

“Feature wall.” May provides.

“Yeah. That.”

“Maybe.” Jemma looks out of the window again. “I think a white one would look better though. I’ll see how I feel tomorrow, before we paint.”

Coulson nods, and goes back to driving.

 

 

 

 

They stop at a Home Depot in West Lebanon. May initially wants to stay in the SUV, but Coulson tempts her out when he suggests that she can start looking at things for the kitchen. Jemma walks behind them as they head inside, her “parents” holding hands while she drags her feet. She finishes her drink and puts it in the bin outside before following them in, looking around at the signs hanging over the aisles to try and figure out where the paint section is.

Her eyes find Coulson, reading a sign about some discounted gardening tools, while May disappears to look at some kitchenware. Jemma heads over to stand beside him, giving the sign a quick read herself.

“Did you have to leave your tools behind in Ohio?” she asks gently, trying to figure out his unreadable expression. He sighs, and looks at her.

“Yeah, left the garden behind too.” he says bitterly, shaking his head. “I bet the next people to live there won’t know how to take care of my begonias.”

Despite the fact that she feels guilty over uprooting them again, Jemma snorts. “You and your flowers.”

They go and find the paint aisle together, making light conversation along the way. She asks him about his plans for the garden, which she knows he’s bound to be happy with, and he talks to her about ideas for her new bedroom. Jemma isn’t _entirely_ sure of what she wants to do with it just yet, but she has some vague ideas. She makes a mental note to consult both Daisy and Pinterest later.

Finding a paint colour she likes is easier than expected, despite the fact that she struggles to find a nice dusty blue. Eventually she settles for ‘Skyline Steel’, a light grey that even Coulson approves of. He tries to coax her into looking at some new furniture but she decides to hold off, wanting more time to think about it first. All she knows is that she’s thinking white furniture, and she’s still considering begging for a fish.

When they can’t find May, Coulson takes the opportunity to drag Jemma over to the gardening section to look at some tools. She stays by his side for a while, but she can’t feign interest in rakes, spades, and wheelbarrows for too long. She eventually manages to excuse herself before he starts ranting about his beloved begonias again, disappearing to look at some of the houseplants.

She’s deep in thought as she looks closely at the succulents and cacti that line the shelves, each one in need of a water but otherwise healthy. A small one on the end with purple-tipped leaves and a relatively low price tag catches her eye, but when she turns around to go and ask Coulson about it she bumps right into someone and ends up on the floor in a daze.

The someone turns out to be a boy that looks to be around her age in an orange Home Depot apron, scowling at her as if she’s just committed a heinous crime. He should be beautiful with his bright blue eyes and cherubic curly hair, but the look on his face makes him appear to be anything but.

When he speaks, both the edge to his tone and the Scottish accent catch her off guard.

“Watch where you’re going!” he snaps at her. Jemma takes only seconds to break out of her dumbfounded haze, glaring back at him and standing (or sitting) her ground.

“ _You_ were the one that was standing too close to me for no good reason!” she retorts in an instant.

“I was doing my _damn job_ , watering the plants! _You_ were too caught up in looking at them to bloody notice anything!”

“So it’s all my fault?”

“You know what? Frankly, ye-”

“What’s going on here?”

Jemma and the boy quickly look up, only to find Coulson standing and watching them. His arms are folded, and he’s watching them with an amused expression and a twinkle in his eye. She and the boy share a quick look, before his expression sours again and he walks off in a huff. When he’s out of sight, Coulson smirks and walks over to help Jemma up off the floor. She thanks him with a sigh, running her fingers through her hair and looking back at the plants on the shelves. He watches her for a moment, his amused expression never fading, before eventually speaking up.

“So…?” he prompts slowly. Jemma turns to look at him, raising an eyebrow and still looking slightly annoyed.

“So what?”

He looks over his shoulder briefly, and points in the direction the boy just left in with his thumb. “What was all that about?”

She exhales heavily, shaking her head as she tries to find the plant that took her interest again. “He bumped into me and knocked me over. He was incredibly rude.”

“From what I heard, you weren’t all that polite yourself.” When Jemma goes to open her mouth and respond, he holds up a hand and cuts her off. “Do you want one of these?” he asks, nodding towards the plants. She lets out a heavy sigh.

“I like this little one.” She reaches out and picks up the small plant, inspecting it closely for any signs of poor health. Coulson nods his head slowly, and smiles.

“Well, it’s cheap. Is that all you want, the succulent and the paint?” Jemma nods, and he smiles again. “Alright, let’s go find your mom.”

They find May looking at coffee machines, having clearly never left the kitchen section. She jumps slightly when Coulson comes up beside her and wraps an arm around her waist, but she smiles at him and warms to his touch quickly. Jemma rolls her eyes, acting disgusted, though she suddenly isn’t acting anymore when they share a quick kiss. It’s pretty rare for them to do something like that, they normally do it when they’re trying _really_ hard to look couple-y or if they think their cover is at risk.

She leans against the counter and stares down at her scruffy Converse, picking at the fraying hem of her jumper. When Coulson senses her getting fidgety he manages to draw May away from the kitchen appliances and they head over to pay. Thankfully they don’t run into the boy again, but for some reasons she seems to have a hard time forgetting him.

 

 

 

 

“So… are you gonna tell me about your day?”

Jemma looks up from where she’s been scrolling down her “Bedroom” board on Pinterest, running her fingers through her hair as she looks at the grainy image of Daisy in the corner of her desktop. Her webcam hasn’t been working properly for a few weeks after her dad accidentally dropped it.

She’s watching Jemma with a raised eyebrow, glancing up at her every few seconds while she paints her nails. Jemma shifts in her bed, which the movers had brought up and helped her assemble a few hours ago.

“There’s really not much to tell, in spite of everything.” she admits, shrugging her shoulders. “We got here this morning, went to Taco Bell and Home Depot, brought in some of the furniture, set up the lab, had dinner…” Jemma smiles at her. “Quite dull, don’t you think?”

Daisy laughs, and rolls her eyes. “Jemma Simmons, only _you_ could make moving to a whole new state seem _boring_.”

Jemma falls silent at the mention of her first name, her _real_ name, and Daisy looks up at her. When she sees the neutral expression on her friend’s face she quickly puts down her nail varnish and softens her tone.

“Is everything alright?” she asks gently, looking concerned.

It’s one of the things she both loves and resents about her best friend: she always, _always_ knows when something’s up. She always speaks in the exact same way, her voice gentle and soft, and the look of concern is so real that Jemma honestly finds it quite touching. Due to the nature of their relationship she doesn’t always know if May and Coulson are being genuine in the way they talk and act towards her - but at least with Daisy, she _always_ knows it’s real. It’s a huge comfort, but she isn’t wanting to divulge much information about how she’s feeling right now.

“Sort of,” Jemma admits, knowing better than to lie to her. She’s always been a terrible liar, and Daisy and May in particular are impossible to lie to. “I think I’m having a bit of an identity crisis.”

“Really?”

She doesn’t say anything.

“Well, go on,” Daisy stretches her arms over her head, and yawns. “Talk to me. What’s on your mind?”

Jemma goes back to looking at Pinterest, reluctant to elaborate any further. “It’s nothing major. Just… I don’t know. Maybe it’s because you’ve only died twice that you’ve never really felt this way, but… I just feel like I’m losing myself.”

“How so?”

She rolls her eyes. “Isn’t it normally _me_ that plays therapist for _you_?”

Daisy shrugs. “Whatever. I’m serious though, what do you mean? And don’t change the subject.”

She takes a deep breath, and runs her hands down her face. “I suppose I just mean that I’ve changed my identity so many times that I don’t really know who I am anymore. I want to be _Jemma Simmons_ , but I don’t even know who she is. I don’t know if I ever did.” Jemma pauses for a moment, before her eyes flicker over to Daisy’s face at the top of the screen. “Who am I?” she asks quietly.

Silence falls over them, and Daisy looks to be deep in thought. Jemma glances at the time on her laptop, not far off midnight, and lets out a sigh. They’d started talking after dinner, the time had flown by as usual.

Eventually, she speaks up.

“Well… you’re Jemma.” Daisy says, offering her a small smile. “You like reading, science, animals, and… what’s the name of that show you like?”

“Doctor Who?”

“That’s it. You’re kind, funny, an _awesome_ friend… and you’re _super_ smart, too. Like, way smarter than me.” Jemma goes to protest, but Daisy doesn’t let her. “I can say all that stuff, but the only person that can really figure out who you are is _you_.”

“But I don’t know how to.” Jemma whispers, looking away. “How can I be ‘super smart’ if I can’t even figure out how I’m supposed to know who I am?”

Daisy shakes her head. “Stuff like that takes time, Jem. Just…” She stops upon hearing someone call her name, turning her head to listen. “Night Mom!” she calls out, before returning her attention to Jemma. “Sorry, Jemma, I gotta go. Mom and Dad are going to bed.”

“No, it’s fine.” She smiles weakly at her. “We can talk more tomorrow. I’m painting my room, Coulson’s going to help but I doubt he’ll stay for the whole thing. Fancy talking to me then?”

“Sure, after school.” she agrees, yawning. “Just… chin up, okay? You can figure this… or, yourself, out. I know you can. I’m here for you.”

Jemma wishes she could hug her. “Thanks. I love you.”

“Love you too, Jemma.” Daisy blows a kiss at the screen. Jemma catches it, and does the same in return. “Night.”

“Night.”

Daisy ends the call, and Jemma sighs and closes her laptop. She turns to put it on the bedside table, one of the only pieces of furniture in her room so far, before rolling onto her side in bed and turning off the lamp. She doesn’t really feel like being awake anymore, eager to just sleep and be done with the day.

When she closes her eyes, she dreams of hundreds of different versions of herself suffocating in an airless room while she watches, completely powerless to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't have Twitter, [pester me on Tumblr!](http://isabellehartley.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this chapter is so late! I've been really busy with college, and writer's block has been kicking my ass. One day I'll have a regular update schedule, lol.
> 
> I actually didn't want to end this chapter the way I did, but the original ending was slightly similar to that of the last chapter and it wasn't really necessary to add it anymore. As a result, though, this chapter is a bit shorter than originally intended - I hope that doesn't bother anyone.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this, and I hope the next chapter comes sooner! Don't forget to leave kudos and a comment!
> 
> PLEASE NOTE: This chapter contains references to self-harm and drug abuse. Please tread carefully if these could be triggering for you.

The following morning, Jemma is awoken by a knock on the front door. She groans and turns her face into the pillow, not before glancing at the time on her phone: _08:31._ She was normally an early riser, but her sleeping pattern was still out of order thanks to the move and the procedure.

She rolls onto her side and tries to go back to sleep again, not quite ready to face the day yet when she hears another few knocks. She pulls the pillow over her head and lets out a quiet groan, just as she hears Coulson’s voice.

“Mel, get the door!”

No reply.

“Melinda! The door!”

Still nothing.

Another knock echoes through the house soon after, and she hears Coulson grumbling to himself as he gets up out of bed and opens a drawer. She slowly sits upright, rubbing her eyes and quietly slipping out of bed as well. She’s curious about the person at the door, especially seeing as they seem to be very persistent. And, if May’s still doing yoga downstairs, she’ll probably make her a smoothie when she’s done.

Jemma tugs on her soft pink dressing gown, yawning as she crosses the room and opens the door. She comes face to face with Coulson, who looks just as tired as she is but decidedly more disgruntled. They don’t really say anything but they exchange a look, and she follows him downstairs.

May is perched in the middle of the still mostly bare living room, attempting (and nailing) what Jemma thinks is a ridiculously complicated yoga pose. She glances up to look at Coulson without even the slightest hint of a wobble, and Jemma snorts when he gives her his best ‘ _seriously_?’ face. May just smirks and looks away, which only seems to add to his frustration.

He yanks open the front door, clearly prepared to lay into whoever dared to disturb his lie-in, but his face softens and he smiles. Curious, Jemma wanders over and stands beside him in the doorway.

Standing before them is a neat, well-dressed woman looking to be about the same age as Coulson and May. She smiles at them when she sees them, and brushes a few strands of her dark bob out of her face. Jemma glances between them, and then back at May; she’s also looking at the woman with a strange expression on her face, it’s a bit like a smirk - but there’s something else behind it that she’s never seen before.

“Hi!” she begins, her smile never fading. Her eyes flit between Jemma and Coulson. “I’m sorry to have gotten you out of bed so early, but I just wanted to drop by before work to welcome you to the neighbourhood.”

“Oh, thank you very much,” Coulson smiles warmly, and they shake hands. “Can I ask your name?”

“Rosalind. Can I ask yours?”

“Phil.” He wraps an arm around Jemma, bringing her into his side. She doesn’t even try to act disgusted, instead opting to slip into the daddy’s girl role. “This is my daughter Jemma, and in there…” Coulson turns his head, and points at May over his shoulder with his thumb. Rosalind and Jemma look too - she seems to be trying out (and again, nailing) yet another complicated yoga pose, completely uninterested in meeting their new neighbour. “Is my _lovely_ wife, Melinda.”

She smiles as though debating on whether saying hi is a good idea, before deciding against it and returning her attention to Coulson and Jemma. Suddenly, she slaps a hand to her forehead and reaches to fetch something from her bag.

“I almost forgot, I made these for you last night.” Rosalind pulls out a tupperware container full of cookies, handing them over to Coulson. “I hope you like oatmeal.”

“Oh, we do. Thank you so much,” He smiles at her again, even brighter than before, and turns around to address May. “Look, Melinda.” He rattles the container at her. “Oatmeal.”

“Yes.”

He turns back to Rosalind again, and Jemma takes the container from him to inspect them.

“I thought oatmeal would be safer than chocolate chip, there’s a _lot_ of health nuts in this area.” Rosalind jokes. She and Coulson laugh together, and Jemma manages a smile. “I mean, the people that lived here before you had a gym in one of the rooms upstairs.”

Coulson’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really? A gym? Don’t give my wife any ideas, she’ll be kicking Jemma out of her room if she thinks it’ll make a good place for a gym.”

They laugh again, and Jemma can practically feel May rolling her eyes.

Rosalind adjusts her bag on her shoulder, and her smile turns bittersweet. “Well, listen. I gotta go, can’t be late for work. But it was nice talking to you.”

Coulson nods, understanding. “Oh, of course. You too, Rosalind. Thank you.”

She smiles again, and as she turns to leave she calls over her shoulder, “Welcome to Lebanon!”

“Bye, Rosalind.” Coulson waves her off, and closes the door.

As soon as the door is closed Jemma steps away from him, walking over to sit on the couch with the tupperware container still in her hands. She pulls off the lid and glances at the contents, before taking a cookie and beginning to slowly eat it. They’re surprisingly good, even better than May’s. As she sits and eats she watches Coulson cross the room to confront May, scratching the back of his head.

“Seriously, Melinda? Is it _that hard_ to open a damn door?”

May sighs dramatically, not even bothering to look up at him. “It would have disturbed my chi.”

“ _Disturbed_ your _chi?_ ” Coulson sounds so irritated that Jemma has to hide her face to stifle her laughter. “Your _chi_ disturbed my _sleep_!”

She rolls her eyes again, and elects to change the subject. “So, our neighbour seems nice.”

Coulson’s face softens, and he sits down beside Jemma on the couch. Absent-mindedly he takes a cookie from the container, and hums in appreciation as he starts to eat. “I’m surprised you like her. You’re normally suspicious of friendly neighbours."

“She’s suspicious of everyone,” Jemma pipes up, and he nods in agreement. May ignores them both, focusing on her yoga until Coulson speaks again after finishing his first cookie and reaching for another.

“Could you bake her something as a thank you?”

“Why can’t you?”

“He’d burn the house down.” Jemma provides. He scowls at her, and she smiles sweetly at him in response.

“Well, you’re not wrong…” May muses, straightening up and stretching her arms out over her head. As she walks in the direction of the kitchen, she continues to speak to them over her shoulder. “I guess I could sort out a little something. If she invites me in, it’d be a good time to check her house for anything out of the ordinary.”

Jemma mutters to him, “Told you she was suspicious of everyone.” He nods.

If she hears them she doesn’t respond, and they hear her start cutting up some fruit on the counter to make a smoothie. Coulson yawns and Jemma soon follows, honestly debating on whether or not to go back to sleep for an hour or so. She normally found it impossible to go back to sleep after being awake for more than ten or fifteen minutes, but the last few days had been completely draining and part of her felt as though she could sleep through the entire week and still not feel fully rested.

“So…” Coulson begins, finishing his second cookie with a content sigh. “If you’re not too tired, why don’t we make a start on your room after breakfast? We could probably at least get the first coat done today.”

“But we _just_ ate.” Jemma protests, gesturing to the box of cookies. Before Coulson even has time to reply, May speaks up from the kitchen.

“Cookies are _not_ a substantial breakfast, Jemma.” She appears in the doorway, looking at them both with a raised eyebrow and folded arms. “Go get changed, I’ll make you something.”

She yawns, and slowly gets to her feet. “Can I please just have some toast?”

“Butter?”

“Mmhm.”

“Got it.”

“And can I have-” Coulson starts, only to be cut off mid-sentence by his partner.

“You’re a grown man, Phil.” May narrows her eyes at him. “You can make your own breakfast. Not that _Pop-Tarts_ count as breakfast, anyway.” He looks surprised, and she rolls her eyes. “I know you bought them and hid them in the cupboard. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

Jemma smirks, leaving the room to go upstairs. She can hear them bickering as she goes, and while it normally amuses her to no end she’s having trouble getting the dream from the previous night out of her head. She wrinkles her nose, pushing aside the memory of watching herself gasp for air and reach out for help as she pushes her bedroom door open and goes over to flop onto the bed.

She lies there for a while just looking up at the ceiling, before she rolls onto her stomach to grab her phone and send Daisy a ‘good morning’ text. She knows she’ll already be in first period at school, but she knows she’ll at least see it seeing as she never leaves her phone alone. Not even in class. She’s always been smart, but not as good of a student as Jemma. One of Daisy’s favourite nicknames for her is “Einstein”. She’s not a fan of it, but all she has to do is sing ‘Daisy Bell’ and it shuts her up right away.

Eventually, Jemma pulls herself from her thoughts and starts to look through the haphazardly-stacked piles of folded clothes next to her bed. She’d been too tired to put them into her chest of drawers the night before, so they were still lying around. She manages to find a pair of old grey sweatpants pretty quickly, but she doesn’t really have any shirts she wouldn’t mind ruining with paint. Conflicted, she steps out of her room still wearing her pyjama shirt before walking straight into Coulson.

He goes to speak, but catches sight of her shirt and raises an eyebrow. “Really? Pyjamas?”

“I don’t really have anything I can get dirty.”

Coulson shakes his head, and opens his own bedroom door. “I’ll lend you something.” He pauses. “That’s not weird, right?” Jemma shrugs her shoulders, and he smiles. “Alright then.”

She follows him inside and sits on the end of the bed he shares with May. She wonders sometimes if it must be awkward for them, but she’s suspected that there’s been something there between them for years now and the fact that they share a double bed only adds fuel to the fire. Jemma watches as he rummages through the drawers trying to find something for her to wear, playing with her hands in her lap until he finally straightens up and hands her a t-shirt. It’s a grey one with a logo for a sports team that she doesn’t recognise.

“Thank you.” she murmurs, standing up and stretching her arms over her head. He just smiles and shrugs his shoulders, searching for something to wear himself.

“It’s nothing, I haven’t worn that in years. Not sure why I still have it, actually.”

“Sometimes things are just hard to let go of.”

“Sure, but you'd think that _we_ of all people would be pretty good at it by now.”

Jemma smiles sadly. “You would, wouldn’t you?”

She doesn’t quite meet his gaze, but she can feel the way he’s looking at her. He’s watching her face and keeping an eye on her body language, trying to figure out exactly what’s going on in her head. He’s always been frustratingly good at reading people. Even May, who Jemma honestly thinks seems emotionless half the time.

She waits for the inevitable question, the _“Are you okay?”_ that’ll be coupled with a concerned look and a furrowed brow, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Coulson straightens up and waves her off.

“Go get breakfast. I need to get changed, and I doubt you wanna watch that.”

Jemma wastes no time in bolting from the room, and she hears him laughing at her hasty exit.

 

 

 

 

“Isn’t that one of Phil’s shirts?” May questions, barely even looking up from buttering Jemma’s toast. Jemma sits down heavily at the counter, watching her for a moment before she replies.

“I didn’t really have anything I wouldn’t have minded ruining with paint, so he lent it to me.”

“Fair enough,” comes her response. She sets down the plate in front of Jemma, and pours her some of the freshly-blended pink smoothie into a glass. She thanks her, and immediately starts to eat.

She watches from the corner of her eye as May wanders to the cupboards to get another glass, before pouring herself some of the smoothie and heading over to look out of the window. It’s been raining since she woke up, and judging by the heavy grey clouds overhead it’s been raining since long before even May got up for the day. Which, she privately thinks, is a ridiculously early time to wake up.

“You picked a good day to paint your room.” she comments. “It’s been raining for hours. You can’t do much but stay in on a rainy day.” May lets out a heavy sigh, and turns around to lean against the sink and face Jemma. “I was hoping I could have a walk around today, get my bearings. I guess it’ll have to wait.”

Jemma looks up at her, and sips her smoothie. “I think Coulson said something about some files in the lab that needed to be sorted through. Maybe you could do that for a while?”

May rolls her eyes. “Oh, _fun_.” She pauses. “But someone has to do it, I guess.”

“I’d help out if I wasn’t painting my room.”

She smiles at her with what Jemma thinks is a hint of fondness, but doesn’t say anything in response.

Coulson comes downstairs in scruffy painting clothes minutes later, scratching the back of his head and yawning. He heads straight for the cupboard where he’d apparently hidden his secret stash of Pop-Tarts - strawberry, as she’d expected - and sets the box down on the counter. He looks at May as though expecting her to comment, but she just fixes him with an icy glare and says nothing. He opens a packet and takes one out to eat, and when he bites into it Jemma swears she sees a shiver run through her.

He smiles at his partner, and holds out the box. “Want one?” She looks at him as though he’s just kicked a puppy, and he raises his eyebrows and pulls his arm back. “Yikes. Sorry. I guess the war on junk food is pretty intense these days.”

“There are _much_ healthier, better things you could be snacking on, Phil.” Melinda mutters, downing the rest of her smoothie and turning around to wash the glass.

“Last time you said that you gave me a bowl of kale chips, and my tastebuds still haven’t recovered from the experience.”

She rolls her eyes at him, and raises an eyebrow. “They probably went into shock after tasting something that wasn’t loaded with sugar and fat for once.”

“I think they were more horrified over what they’d been subjected to, but each to their own.” Coulson shrugs, and goes over to put his hand on Jemma’s shoulder. “Ready to get painting?” She replies in the affirmative, and he gives her shoulder a squeeze before turning to leave the kitchen again. “There are some tarps in the lab. I’ll go them, we can use them to cover the carpet.”

When he’s gone May mutters something under her breath about crushing up vitamin supplements into his food, and Jemma can’t help but snort with laughter.

 

 

 

 

She watches lazily with her back against the wall as Coulson attempts to pry off the lid of the paint with a screwdriver. It gives with a small pop, and he sits back on his haunches with a small but satisfied smile on his face. Jemma shifts on the tarp, which rustles beneath her, and leans over to grab the paintbrush. His hands weren’t always steady enough to carefully paint the areas around the skirting board or the door frame (nor did he have the patience), so she normally had that taken care of before she grabbed a roller herself. Painting wasn’t a job she enjoyed, but the downtime with Coulson was surprisingly present. She has a quick glance at her phone before slipping it back into her pocket, prompting him to speak.

“Heard much from Daisy today?” he questions, pouring some of the paint into the tray for easy access with the roller. She just watches for a moment, before shifting closer to the wall to start the delicate task of painting around the skirting board.

“No, not really.” Jemma shrugs her shoulders. “She’s at school, right now she’s complaining about Spanish class.”

Coulson raises an eyebrow, starting to paint the wall. “Español?” He slowly shakes his head. “No es tan difícil.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “Not for you, maybe. But she finds it hard. And so do I, come to think of it. You know I’m rubbish at languages.”

“Que lo entendías.”

“Sorry?”

“Nevermind, then.”

They fall silent for a little while. She steals a glance at him from where she’s perched on the floor every so often, he’s got a look on his face like he wants to say something but he can’t quite find the words, or figure out when is the best time to say it. Jemma knows it’ll be something to do with her and what she said to him before, so she doesn’t say anything to him to avoid putting herself and her mind in the spotlight just yet.

It feels good, being able to paint her room again. It’s starting to feel like her own space, which normally takes about a week upon moving into a new house. Jemma would often drift from room to room trying to find somewhere she felt comfortable enough to relax before her room started feeling like hers, but when it did, it was usually where she’d end up spending most of her time throughout the day. The feeling of peace that came with the silence between them, however, was ultimately short-lived.

Coulson clears his throat. “You haven’t been yourself since we left.”

 _There it is_ , she thinks.

“Can you blame me?” She sighs. “You know how much I liked Akron. Then I just _had_ to go and forget my EpiPen, didn’t I?” Jemma leans over to dip her brush in the paint again, and Coulson does the same with the roller. He remains quiet, letting her speak. “Has May noticed anything?”

He exhales heavily. “Of course May’s noticed. She notices everything, she’s too observant for her own good.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s a blessing and a curse.” he says in a very matter-of-factly way, his brow furrowing as he concentrates on making the coat of paint as even as he can. “She hasn’t said anything about you to me, but I can tell she’s noticed. And she probably won’t bring it up with you, she’ll wait for you to go to her.”

Jemma pauses, looking up at him. “And if I don’t?”

“She’ll leave you to it. You’ve known May long enough now to know how she operates.”.

That wasn’t strictly true, but she nods her head anyway. Jemma shifts across the floor slightly, away from Coulson, to follow the line of the skirting board. She couldn’t think of a single time May had come up to her and quietly asked if if she was alright, _really_ alright, but deep down she knew better than to think that she didn’t care for her. Because she knew she did. But Melinda May was a private woman, keeping her feelings under lock and key and rarely showing any sign of weakness. Jemma often found herself admiring her for it, though she ultimately knew that it couldn’t be healthy. May probably knew that, too, but like Jemma she was probably completely unwilling to address what she knew was undoubtedly the truth.

She could hardly pass judgement on it, she often found herself just as guilty of the exact same thing. But she was worse at hiding it, wearing her heart on her sleeve at the best of times and shutting herself away at the worst.

“Do you think you’re depressed, Jemma?”

The question comes out of nowhere, catching her completely off guard. She drops her paintbrush and it leaves a streak of dusty grey-blue paint on the white skirting board. She swears under her breath, and reaches to wipe it off as best she can with the bottom of Coulson’s old shirt. Jemma can feel his eyes on her, and when she’s done trying to save the situation she looks up at him and meets his gaze.

“Not depressed, no.” She takes a few deep breaths, putting the brush down and clasping her hands together in her lap. “But I do feel detached. Like I’ve lost myself a bit over the years.”

Coulson pulls a face, and his expression is unreadable. “So… a little?”

She sighs.

Jemma Simmons is not depressed. She’s been to enough places, seen enough people, to know what depression looks like.

She remembers the little girl from Oregon in her second grade class, the child with the dark, telltale marks on her arms and the haunted look in her eye. The child that was exactly that: a child. She was pale and rail thin, rarely played with the others, and did nothing but draw angels in flowing white gowns with glowing, golden halos above their heads. Even now, she remembers the pictures. Their arms were always open wide, as though waiting to embrace a newcomer and take away their pain.

She remembers the girl from North Dakota, the girl that died and didn’t come back - the death of a mortal. Top of the class, pretty, with (in retrospect) a smile that never quite reached her eyes. The day after she died, clumps of students hung around the halls and corridors and cried, reminiscing about how she was _such a lovely girl_ and how _you never would have thought, would you?_   But depression was silent, ruthless, and it had ravaged her from the inside out. They left tributes by her locker, and stuck messages to the door. Jemma had pushed her way through the crowd with a post-it note that read, _“Stars can’t shine without darkness.”_ and quietly walked away.

There was a boy in New York that befriended her. At the time she hadn’t been quite sure as to why, but people had mostly left her alone as a result which was nice. With a life like hers, hiding in the shadows was a lot better than stepping out into the light. He had his own small group of friends that she more or less fell in with despite their glaringly obvious differences, but he seemed fascinated with her. She, in turn, had been just as intrigued by him. There was no romantic attraction, just a burning desire to find out what made the other person tick. He, of course, never got to find out her secret. But she found his beneath long sleeves that hid a tangled web of scars and fresh wounds, as well as track marks from needles caught in the centre like flies. He was real. He was more real than most of the people she’d known throughout her life, too real to be the boy you bring home and introduce to your parents. Too real, and too complicated. He would laugh and shake translucent orange pill bottles at her, dragging on a cigarette with an unmistakable sadness in his eyes as he joked about the very illness that she knew he feared would be his downfall, if the drugs didn’t pip it to the post.

 _Depression is a war_ , she thinks. _You can either win, or die trying._

“No. Phil.” She adds on the last word like it’s an afterthought, and the use of his first name makes him look at her differently. “I’m just… like I said, I feel detached.”

He stays quiet.

“You’re going to have to log this, aren’t you?”

“You already know the answer to that question, Jemma.”

“I’ll have to talk to Dr. Garner again.”

“Most likely, yes.”

She sighs tiredly and picks up her paintbrush again, though her mind is elsewhere and she keeps getting too close to the skirting board. The top of it has tiny blobs of paint here and there by the time she’s reached corner, and she turns around to see he’s moved on to paint by the window. He’s skipped the wall with her door, clearly wanting her to go around the doorframe before he starts it.

It’s not much of a calculated decision to get up, walk across the room, and wrap her arms around him. It just happens, and it feels right. He freezes for a second, momentarily surprised, before putting the roller down in the tray and moving to hug her properly.

Her head rests on his chest, and she closes her eyes as she listens to the sound of his beating heart. It’s slightly faster than usual, probably just because he’s worried. Coulson rests his chin on top of her head, and she relaxes into him.

They don’t normally embrace like this. If they do, it’s very rarely real. They hug from time to time in public if the situation calls for it, but this is a much more unusual situation. But she suddenly finds herself needing the comfort and he’s more than happy to provide it; his hand moves to rub her back in slow, gentle circles, and she lets out a shaky little sigh.

“You know you can tell me anything.” he says after a little while, giving her a gentle squeeze. “Don’t you?”

Jemma pauses, and swallows hard. “You’re like a dad to me.”

“And I love you like my own. But this has to stop.” Coulson takes hold of her shoulders, and very gently pries them apart. She slowly lifts her gaze to look up at him. “You can’t keep locking this sort of thing inside, you know how bad it is for you.”

“I know, but-”

“May and I care for you _so_ much. You need to be honest with us.” He sighs heavily. “She loves you like a daughter. But she’d never admit to it, and you know that.” She bites her lip, and slowly nods. “You wear your heart on your sleeve, Jemma. So when we know you’re hiding something, it worries us.”

“I’m sorry.” she murmurs after a brief silence. He pulls her in for a hug again, and she can’t help but cuddle into him. He’s safe and warm, even when he’s covered in paint and probably tired from the early wake-up.

“Don’t be sorry. Just don’t a stranger, okay?”

She nods again, and doesn’t let go for a while. He doesn’t seem to mind.

**Author's Note:**

> [Come say 'hi' on twitter!](http://twitter.com/spysgoodbye)


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